


Looking into the Future, We Can See the Beginning

by Close_enough_to_lose



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (chapter 1), (chapter 2), (chapter 3), Canon Compliant, Complete, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Swearing, Victor's POV, happy ending (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10022603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Close_enough_to_lose/pseuds/Close_enough_to_lose
Summary: "As a child, Victor always knew he was different. He was not particularly remarkable, save from his too pale hair. He felt different, and not in a nice, praiseworthy way. He could not put his finger on what was wrong back then."Or, a fic where the events of Yuri on Ice, as well as those taking place before and after what we see as an audience,  take place in a world where homophobia does exist.Available inPortuguês brasileiro





	1. Searching for Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> The title, and the chapter titles are based on lyrics from [Novus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_LFhcVLYSQ%0A) by Santana  
> This fic happened because I needed to process my own feelings about what it means to be Russian and queer at the same time. I don't live in Russia, but I still am in contact with the culture. The things happening in this story might be difficult sometimes, but ultimately, this is a story of hope.
> 
> The first chapter takes place from Victor's childhood up until episode 1
> 
> I do not have a beta, so if you see any typos, please tell me.
> 
> This fic is now available in [Brazilian Portuguese](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10817700), thank you to [gold_on_ice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_on_ice/pseuds/gold_on_ice) for the translation!

As a child, Victor always knew he was different. He was not particularly remarkable, save from his too pale hair. Despite his thin frame, he was slightly stronger than his classmates as well, but not by much, and his advantage was only due to skating. He felt different, and not in a nice, praiseworthy way. It was not like with skating, where him being different was promising, desirable, good. He could not put his finger on what was wrong back then. After all, people were not mean to him, they teased him in a way friends would tease each other. Only later Victor would learn that he was wrong: people indeed were mean, teasing would turn to threats, and the only reason he was safe, back then, is because children could get away with being different. Once children learned however, they were expected to know what is better for them, and being a _пидор_ was definitely not something desirable.

 _пидор._ Victor heard that word when he was ten. Some older kid yelled the word that would follow Victor for all his life. It was not directed at him, and he did not know what it meant, but it stung at him, because he felt the cruel way the word rolled off the older boy’s tongue. Victor hid his face in his hands before anyone could notice the tears he himself could not explain. Later that day, he asked his parents what it meant. His mother covered her mouth with her hand while his father put a hand on his shoulder, looking Victor dead in the eye.

“This word describes men who fuck other men. They’re not real men. They are mentally ill perverts, and they drag impressionable young boys into their cult. Be careful, Vitya. You are the kind of person who can fall prey to them. I will never forgive you if you become one of them.”

At thirteen, Victor understood that he did turn out to be a _пидор_ , and things started making sense in his head. The people that teased and cast strange looks his way felt it too, but since nothing was confirmed, Victor had some semblance of safety. He did not dare tell his parents. Instead, he focused on his studies and on skating. On the ice, he could breathe. His delicate features were not a sign of weakness; they were welcome there. His sensitivity was not distasteful; he could use it to tell a moving story. The ice only hurt him if he gave it a reason to; Victor accounted for his mistakes and appreciated the honesty of the ice. It was not like humans, who found any superficial reason good enough to cause others pain. 

At fourteen, his hair reached shoulder length, much to his father’s dismay. His mother neither berated nor defended him, and he almost hated her more than his father for that. With his father, Victor could at least be at peace, knowing that the hate would grow to be mutual. His mother, however, though she did nothing to help him, did not give him a tangible reason to resent her either, so he felt guilty. He was determined to score high enough this season to prove his worth to himself, make a living, and move out. He did not need family problems; they would only hinder him.

Victor was proud of his hair. He was only fourteen, but he noticed how people, regardless of gender, started looking at him, as if he was an object they wanted to own and touch. He knew he should be repulsed, but he ignored his gut feeling. It was what he needed. He could use his androgynous charm to his advantage and sway the public in his favour. The world did not give him freedom, but Victor did his best to maneuver through the restrains placed on him.

On one occasion, when he was skating, he practiced the feminine sway of his hips, and burst into laughter. He could not help but picture how the same boys who hated what he was would become smitten with him. The confusion would be priceless. It was the first time he was fully aware of how powerful his charm was.  This routine would be a subtle revenge. He laughed and laughed, until all the skaters, unsettled, gathered at the opposite end of the rink, and he only stopped because of Yakov’s concerned screams.

Yakov’s screams were different from his father’s screams. While Yakov’s harshness came from a place of care -- and really, he was gentle once one got past the initial impressions -- Victor’s father only showed concern for his twisted idea of a perfect son, not for Victor as a person. Victor did not distinguish between the two at first.

He figured out the difference when he was fifteen. Yakov caught him making out with another boy in the locker room, long after the other skaters left.  Seeing Yakov’ livid face, he felt blood draining from his own face as well. His career could be over, right there, just because he was thinking with something other than his head and did not pay attention to his surroundings. He was glad, at least, that Andrei was not under Yakov’s tutelage, so he was safe. When Yakov dragged him out of the locker area, Victor burst into tears. He was petrified; he could not talk. He simply waited for his sentence to be carried out. The sentence never came. Yakov yelled at him, but not the type of words that his father would. Things like “ _What if someone else caught you? You could be beaten!”_ and “ _If you’re sleeping with someone, protect yourself, because there are diseases, the type that the government doesn’t like to acknowledge, the type they will blame you for, the type they might not cure, do you understand?”_ were said with a harsh voice, but it was the first time Victor felt he could trust an adult, because he saw that Yakov cared. He was surprised at first, but then he understood.

Yakov Feltsman. He bore a name that indicated his belonging to a group that was also historically hated. Yakov had family who died in a senseless genocide. People like Yakov have died in the same way that people like Victor have: brutally murdered by an uncaring state. Yakov, who had this history weighing on his shoulders, who understood the implications of that weight, could only feel compassion towards Victor. Victor’s sobs renewed, but for a different reason. For the first time, he was not alone. He desperately clung to Yakov, losing track of time.

A few months later, Victor moved out. The apartment was registered under Yakov’s name, but Victor was the one who paid for it. He told his parents he wanted to be closer to the rink and to dedicate himself fully to skating. It was not yet time for them to know. He would let them figure it out.

All along his career, Victor dropped hints as to his difference. The year that would be his last at the Junior level competition, he had ordered a costume that suggested both female and male genders. Confuse, attract and surprise soon became his method. It was successful.

He kept skating, but for the next few years, his body was developing in ways that hindered him. He trained thoroughly nevertheless. He knew he would not be at his peak, so he let himself have a few flings here and there. He was careful, just like he promised Yakov, and he was not yet the top male figure skater, so the media attention was not overwhelming. As a precaution, he made sure he slept with guys who also had careers to lose, if they were to be outed. Victor could have his fun. What he had, those few fleeting years, was a simulacrum of love and life. He could almost taste freedom.

Or at least he thought so. Rumours started popping up on social media. Unfounded ones. He knew he did not let slip more than what he wanted to show. None of the names of his past lovers were mentioned, so rumours they were.

He got a call from his parents. So they heard the rumours too. His father was telling him to cut his hair already, and his mother, as always, did not say anything. He zoned out for a moment. He realized that he was almost twenty, and told himself it was a decent age to cut his parents off.

“Father, really, don’t believe these rumours that say I get fucked in the ass by other men. They’re not true. I’m the one who fucks men in the ass, and I think about you each time I do it.”

He hung up on that. He may have been too dramatic. Then again, it was nothing compared to the things he has been told as a child. He was not afraid of his father. His father would not confirm the rumours; it would be a disgrace for him as well, if people knew he was the father of someone like that. Honour was a petty thing, and Victor was glad for pettiness for once.

As for the hair, Victor decided he will cut it. Enough of relying on his feminine charms to confuse men. He would, with his virile allure this time around, seduce men from the ice. He wanted to frustrate and to hurt them: he would have them fall for another man and become the very thing they hated. It was the only thing that made Victor feel like he had some control, that he was not entirely helpless. Enough of playing innocent; he will unambiguously use sexuality as a weapon. He had that power.

His apartment started to feel lonely. He told himself that, at least, he had Makkachin to keep him company. He had adopted the dog when he was twelve, and since then, they were inseparable. Makkachin was not exactly a purebred poodle, but Victor did not mind that when he took him in, and to this day he did not care. Things that fit into simple categories were not his type either way. Makkachin was a sweet, gentle creature who loved him without judgement, and Victor took it gladly. He loved the dog back just as much.

When he hit twenty, competition started truly getting serious, so he had to give up on his flings. He could not risk it, not with all the renewed media attention. He felt the political atmosphere getting heavier. Besides, he did not have any time. He focused on skating and skating only. The only living beings he cared about were Makkachin and Yakov. Despite his situation, he almost felt free. He did not need to think about relationships. His body had stopped changing, and he could now focus on getting gold.

Victor’s favourite part of competing was travelling. It was, paradoxically, the worst part as well. When he was away for a competition he could confirm with his own two eyes that there was so much more to the world than Russia’s cold winters. He could also talk and flirt more freely in some of the countries he visited, which made him sigh at the thought of having to go back home. Each time he came back to his motherland he would feel further estranged.  Nevertheless, he was also yearning for his home; it was the only place he had truly known. He pushed his feelings aside. The competition was more important.

He remembered a night when he was twenty-two. He had won his first gold medal, and Christophe, who won silver, invited him to his hotel room to celebrate. Victor liked Christophe for his upfront sexuality. Given different circumstances, maybe he would have turned out this way too. In the back of his mind, he almost felt jealous.  Chris had been raised in a family that did not care who he loved, in a country where attitudes were slightly more accepting. But Victor forgot all that under Chris’ weight. His worries vanished at the touch of his lips. His fingers dug into Chris’ skin. Victor panted and gasped, not as someone who was suffocating, but as someone who was learning how to breathe for the first time. He had not realised how many years he had been holding his breath. He buried his head into Chris’ chest, and trusted him not to talk about the tears that were streaming down his face. For a moment in time and space, he felt safe.

The period of Victor’s life that he classified as ‘Sochi’ was a punch in the face. The law that was passed was a shot to his heart. His motherland was killing him from the inside.

When he first heard the news, he did not believe it. But then he heard it again, expressed with derogatory terms this time around. And again, reported in the same way someone might report the weather. He wanted to scream, but that would just confirm his guilt. He was used to keeping silent, but this was different. If he said a word too much, he could potentially be facing criminal charges. For “propaganda”, as they called it. As if he wanted his identity to be politicized. As if wanting love and safety was just too much to ask. He felt backstabbed by his own country. A country that dared flaunt him as her pride while keeping him shackled. A country that approved of his father’s cruel words of oh so many years ago.

He skipped practice. He ignored Yakov’s calls. He was drunk out of his mind. He was forced to get up when the knocks on his door were getting too insistent and threatened to draw unsolicited attention. It was Yakov. Victor could barely stand up on his own to greet him. Yakov silently got in and immediately put an arm around Victor’s waist, as he was about to lose balance and fall.  Yakov closed the door after himself, and led him back to the couch. Laying on the couch, immobile, Victor almost looked peaceful, if not for his red-rimmed eyes.

“Vitya, you scared me. When you weren’t answering… I imagined the worst.”

There was no reproach in his voice. It was the softest Victor ever heard him speak. He let out a wail. He could not form a coherent thought. He just cried. Yakov leaned in to give him a hug, and Victor felt like he was fifteen again.

“Come to the rink tomorrow. I don’t care how you skate. You can’t afford to isolate yourself like that. And before you start protesting, no, Makkachin doesn’t count as company. He’s a lovely dog, but you need other people to surround you.”

The next day, he felt as if he was tossed naked onto the ice. He flubbed his quadruple flip. He took this a signal. He needed to be born again. _Confuse, attract, surprise_ , his motto sounded in his head. Time for a new persona. He had to win in the Sochi Olympics out of spite. He decided to skate both his short program and his free skate to Tchaikovsky’s music. He wanted symbolism because he was dramatic like that.

His short program was set to an orchestral arrangement of opus 39, no. 12, or “Sweet Dream”. It had an innocent touch which contrasted with his playboy persona. As expected, the crowd went wild, just like for anything he did. He was starting to get bored with himself. He wanted nothing more but this sweet dream to last forever, to steal him away from his dull, unfair reality. As he finished his program, he wondered when he had stopped cherishing life. Maybe he never cherished it in the first place. Who knew. He had his free skate to focus on next.

It was set to Dance of the Swans. Neither of the songs he chose were lively, but he was Victor Nikiforov; he could make anything work. He did not know his own emotions, but he knew how to control the emotions of a crowd. His theme was melancholy, and he made sure every single audience member felt the same despair as him. He did all his jumps with both arms up, spread like wings.  His mind was completely blank. As his routine came to an end, he wondered how long until he would have to perform his true swan song. It felt like he did not have long.

He won the gold. He was supposed to be happy, but the only thing he felt was spite. “How does it feel, Russia, to have a Russian _пидор,_ skating to the music of another Russian _пидор,_ get the gold medal on your own cursed land?” he thought but never said. “You can’t have the achievements without the man,” he added in his head. Maybe he should retire soon.

The next season, he was just going through motions. He could skate beautifully, but his emotions were not what they used to be. He was a bitter man without a life outside of the ice, without worth to his country outside the ice. He was only moved by spite. When he ordered his piece for his free skate, he requested that the Italian lyrics were explicitly about two men. It was the most he could do as a gesture of rebellion toward his country. It was the best he could do for others like him who would watch.

He had won another gold.  He did not know if he could keep winning, but he hid it. Instead, he talked to Yuri about his performance at the Junior’s. The fourteen-year-old had potential to be even better than him. He hoped that Yuri would turn out to be happier him. He was giving him tips for the next season already, but the Junior gold medalist was ignoring him.

Then he caught the gaze of Yuuri Katsuki. Back then he did not think Yuuri would ever be anything more to him than just another competitor. He remembered seeing his performance. The step sequences were breathtaking, but he flubbed his jumps. Victor never flubbed jumps in competition, so he did not know what it was like, having to capture the audience’s attention despite repeated failure. Katsuki managed that, and if next season he worked on his jumps, he would be a force to be reckoned with. That is, if Victor did not retire. He asked him for a commemorative photo. Yuuri rejected. Victor was surprised. People seldom refused him. He shrugged it off; Yuuri was not going to play a big role in his life either way.

Or so Victor thought. Later that night, the banquet destroyed any first impression he had of Yuuri Katsuki. This was not the avoidant and dejected man he saw earlier. This Yuuri had way too much to drink, and he was enthralling. He somehow managed to drag the Russian Yuri into a dance battle, which was already surprising. And then he started pole dancing with Chris. With his socks on. And drunk off his ass. Victor could not take his eyes away from him. With this flexibility, coordination and wild charisma, how the hell did he not win the Grand Prix? Victor could not wait to face him the next season.

Then, Yuuri, who had initially rejected him, approached him. He challenged him to a dance battle. Victor ignored that he was grinding on him _in public_ while asking him to be his coach. He did not know how things were in Japan, but he was sure that this behaviour would be considered indecent. Victor accepted. He was used to sweeping people off their feet, to charming them out of their wits. It was the first time the situation was reversed. He did not care that he was dancing with another man. The world could watch, and Victor would not let go of this drunken man who led their dance. He had not felt this happy in years. Despite the state of the world, despite the disapproving whispers, despite everything, Yuuri fearlessly defied all expectations. Victor found him brave, and felt himself growing braver too. He would learn much later how Yuuri’s name was written and what it meant. If only he knew before, maybe he would not have been that surprised.

He left him his number, but Yuuri never called. Maybe he regretted his drunken antics. Victor understood, and held no hard feelings. After all, Yuuri could not know for certain about Victor’s orientation. Surprisingly, there was no media attention drawn to what went down in the banquet, and Victor suspected that quite a few coaches had to pull some strings. Victor could just pretend that night never happened. Except some people (and by some people he meant Chris) did not let him.

And then, just as suddenly as he appeared and disappeared, Yuuri came back to his life. Chris had sent him a link, along with a message: “ _Victor, j’ai vu ton expression l’autre jour, avec Katsuki. N’essaye pas de le nier._ _Tu vas apprécier la vidéo.”_ He clicked on the link. Yuuri was in the middle of the rink. He was a bit chubbier than the last time he had seen him. There was no music, but there was no need for it. The way Yuuri skated created music on its own.

It was sign. Consciously or not, Yuuri was calling to him. He understood the words and conveyed them with his body.  Victor had decided. He saw potential. He was tired. He wanted change. He was inspired for the first time in years. He did not need more meaningless, empty golds. He would coach Yuri. So he flew to Japan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -пидор = fag
> 
> -Yakov's name is a very Jewish name (hence Victor's remark to himself), so while the anime doesn't address it (because it is irrelevant), his papers most probably indicate that he is in fact Jewish, regardless of if he practices the religion or not. 
> 
> -Victor's remark to his father is not a reflection of his sexual preferences, but rather a provocation. Being the receiving partner would, in his father's eyes, mean that he is being "corrupted", that he is somehow salvageable, wheras being the dominant one means he takes full responsibility for his "corruption".
> 
> -Victor chooses to skate to Tchaikovsky because Tchaikosvky was pretty darn gay
> 
> -One of the kanji used to write Yuuri's name is 勇, meaning heroism, courage, bravery , etc.
> 
> -Victor, j’ai vu ton expression l’autre jour, avec Katsuki. N’essaye pas de le nier. Tu vas apprécier la vidéo. = Victor, I saw your expression the other day, with Katsuki. Don't try to deny it. You will appreciate the video.
> 
> \---
> 
> EDIT: I just read [this post](http://lookiamnotcreative.tumblr.com/post/152194922083/has-anyone-done-this-yet-yes-no-maybe-in-any) and realized that I was wrong about Makkachin's age/when Victor adopted him, so I fixed that, but for the purpose of the story, I did not do major edits when it comes to his breed. 
> 
> There will be two other chapters, one of which is written and needs proofreading, and another one which is in progress. Hopefully, I will complete this work in the next 2 weeks


	2. Looking for Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the 2nd part! Much less speculation about Victor's past here, but I still added some events that we did not see in the canon.
> 
> I always find it a bit hard to write fanfiction, because I am much more used to write academic essay-type texts. It's a nice challenge nevertheless, and I hope you enjoy the result!

Victor realized his decision to fly to Japan was a bit hasty. He did not have a plan, nor did he know how to get to Yuuri’s place. And he did not speak Japanese. In hindsight, Yakov was right to berate him. Victor would have to thank him one day for enduring all the trouble he gave him over the years, and not with one of his usual hugs that he only ever gave when he felt down, but with a sincere word of gratitude. That, however, was a mission for when he came back to Russia. At that moment, he had another mission, and it was finding Yuuri Katsuki.

For once, Victor was glad he was famous. Usually, he did not like having people intruding upon his life, but his status as a world-renowned skater meant that many kind strangers were willing to help him. He eventually found his way to Yu-topia. Back then, he did not know he would come to consider this place his second home. He did not know how much Yuuri would come to mean to him either.

When Yuuri saw him in the hot springs, it was the third time they met. Once again, he was a completely different person. He was not the dejected man he first saw. He was not the ecstatic drunken mess from the banquet either. This Yuuri Katsuki was shy, reserved, and utterly terrified of Victor’s presence. Coaching Yuuri turned out to be an entirely different challenge from what he expected.

Victor tried to gain Yuuri’s trust through his charms. It did not work, and Victor was floored. It was the first time his charisma was failing him. Yuuri was not very keen on physical affection either. Victor usually got what he wanted just by using his body or making the right gesture at the right time. After all, that was what all people cared about. If people truly knew him as a person, they would probably reject him, so Victor never bothered getting in touch with his emotions. Most of them were painful anyway. For Yuuri, however, he had to change his methods. He needed to be in touch with his feelings, and he had never felt so clueless or vulnerable.

It was different from the emotions he showed when he cried in Yakov’s arms; what he felt then was helplessness and disillusionment. It was different from what he had with Christophe as well, whom he trusted with his body, but not entirely with his emotions. Yuuri forced Victor to earn his trust and to give his trust in return as well. He compelled him to understand his emotions as well as discover his own. Victor realized that he had to create a lasting bond as Yuuri’s equal, and eventually he found that he liked that kind of attachment.

Over time, Yuuri became more comfortable around Victor. Victor liked the different side of Yuuri he was discovering just as much as the one he showed at the banquet. He appreciated Yuuri’s quiet contemplation. He liked how his eyes shone when he had a goal in front of him. He found out how deep Yuuri’s anxiety ran, and admired him for getting as far as he did despite how debilitating it was. He learned to appreciate Yuuri as a human being as well as a skater, and he wanted, more than anything, help Yuuri bridge the gap between the two.

Victor also appreciated the break from skating, because it meant he was away from Russia. In Hasetsu, he did not feel fear. In the deepest corners of his heart, he knew well that if he stayed by Yuuri’s side, he would be killing his own competitive career. Nevertheless, he stayed. The last medals he won for Russia were a result of bitterness; victory tasted sour in his mouth. He was no longer living up to his name. Whatever he had with Yuuri, it was new, it made him feel happy, and it was worthwhile. He only hoped Yuuri felt the same way.

When Yuri Plistetsky came to Hasetsu, Victor felt immense fear at the prospect of losing what he had built in the short time he stayed with Yuuri. He knew it was selfish, but he did not want his former rinkmate to win Onsen on Ice. Returning to Russia, just when he managed to squirm his way out of her icy grip, was out of question. But he trusted Yuuri to win. He was more experienced, and really, the younger Yuri did not need Victor as a coach. He needed someone to help him gain practical experience, and Victor was not the best teacher for that. Yuuri, however, had all the experience, but none of the confidence, which is what Victor sought to help him find. He knew it was somewhere in him, and he would be the one to help him find it again.

Yuri Plistetsky had lost to Yuuri Katsuki. In the back of his mind, Victor always knew it would be the case. Yuri was a prodigy, but Yuuri has skating drilled into him to the point where he could probably skate with his eyes closed. Victor was glad. He would stay in Japan. Yuri would learn to be more humble. Yuuri, for his part, gained some confidence, and got to eat katsudon with Victor.

Victor also noticed, that during the competition, Yuuri had been the first one to initiate physical contact. Something had changed.

The aftermath of Onsen on Ice was a turning point for them. Yuuri was still a bit jumpy around Victor, but he accepted his affection and was willing to talk to him more. Coaching Yuuri became much easier past the initial awkwardness, and his win boosted his confidence. On the personal side of things, Victor did not know how to name what he had with Yuuri. The only thing he knew is that it felt nice, and that he did not want to let this feeling go.

Eventually, Victor asked Yuuri what he wanted him to be. He even casually suggested “boyfriend”, to test the waters. Yuuri simply wanted him to be Victor, and once more, Yuuri managed to surprise him. He was straightforward and he did not want any pretense. And yet what seemed simple to Yuuri was unimaginable to Victor: all of his life, the real Victor was unwanted. He was rejected by his own father, would possibly be rejected by his own country if the truth came out. But he would be truthful for Yuuri. He would meet him halfway.

He did not remember when Yuuri and he started to be romantically involved. He could not place a precise point in time; everything melded into one hazy recollection of various events. There were intertwined fingers, secret kisses in the middle of the night, Mari’s teasing, and Yuuri telling him “ _whatever this is, let’s take it slow_ ”. Victor took it all in. All his life, he only took care of himself. He only practiced, skated and won. Caring for someone else was new, but he gave it his all.

Yuuri was progressing by leaps and bounds as he was discovering new feelings within himself. Victor wondered what it would have been like to compete against him, had he found support earlier, but at the same time, he was glad to be the one who stirred these emotions in Yuuri. He was glad he was able to discover new emotions as well along with Yuuri.

He also found out he was able to stir terribly painful emotions in Yuuri as well. How easy it was to break his heart during the Cup of China. Victor knew that Yuuri had anxiety, and he knew it was severe, but it was the first time he saw it with his own eyes. And he was the one to drive Yuuri over the edge. The two of them would be fine though. One day Yuuri would break his heart as well. It was not something cruel. It just happened that people misunderstood each other, and flaws clashed in ways that unintentionally caused pain. Victor could learn to navigate it. It was not the sharp pain of hate. It was something Victor was ready to accept and face. For the moment, he only did what Yuuri asked: he would stay by his side.

When Yuuri skated, Victor finally understood that he did not need to be asked to stay by his side. There was no question about it. He would run right after Yuuri, wherever he decided to lead him. He was no longer afraid of what staying by his side meant. He was no longer afraid of what loving him meant. And, everything else be damned, he wanted Yuuri to understand that.

When Yuuri finished his routine, he skated toward Victor. The space between them was quickly closing. Victor quelled his fears and let his mind go blank. He put his arm behind Yuuri’s head so it would not hit the ice, and made sure it was the arm facing the main camera. The public was too far and the kiss was too short for anyone to confirm without a doubt. He would let the media have a field day. He no longer cared. Yuuri, it turns out, did not care either. They both were blissfully unaware of the world around them.

When he opened his phone back in their hotel room, it was flooded with notifications. One text message from Chris simply said “ _bravo”_ , followed by too many wink emojis. Another text was from Georgi, and it read “ _Congratulations! I’m happy that at least one of us found love_ ”. Victor was surprised, since he was not very close to Georgi, but he was glad his rinkmate did not judge him. Then again, it was a rinkmate who made terrible makeup choices for his performances, so Victor should not have been surprised. He smiled.

He then looked through his emails and saw a message from someone he had not talked to for long. It was strange to see his mother’s name on the screen. Her message was a simple sentence written in Russian:  _Victor, we need to talk_. He deleted the spam, ignored the message and checked his social media instead. It was not a wise move. He had complete strangers asking him intrusive questions and saw the same word that haunted him since he was ten scattered all over his feed.

He pushed it out of his mind. Tonight, Yuuri and he would celebrate. They were in love, they were happy, and Yuuri had won silver. They had both come a long way together and evolved as people. Victor was not going to let people who had no relation with him diminish his morale. Yuuri had taught him that the world was not as unfair as he initially thought, and he would not go back into hiding. And yet, something still made his stomach churn.

He asked Yuuri if he was okay with what happened that day. _What, the kiss? I would have pushed you away if I did not want it._ Victor shook his head. He was worried about his safety. _It’s okay. I’d do it over again in a heartbeat._ In his heart, Victor knew things were more complicated than that, but Yuuri was not afraid. Instead, he translated the supportive text messages he got from the Nishigoris and his family back in Hasetsu to cheer Victor up.

He remembered, in the past month, how Mari showed him the written form of Yuuri’s name and told him what the characters meant. Victor understood nothing of written Japanese, but he committed the first of the shapes to his memory, the one that meant “courage”.  She had told him Yuuri sometimes found himself undeserving of such a name, but seeing how fearlessly he decided to face the potential consequences of their relationship, Victor could not picture anyone else living up to that name better than Yuuri. He was brave. He was surrounded by love. Victor did not feel like he had any of these things in the past, but with Yuuri, that changed.

The Rostelecom Cup quickly followed. Victor was nervous about coming back to Russia. He held Yuuri’s hand. He pushed his fears aside. After all, he was there to support Yuuri, not the other way around.

When it was Yuuri’s turn to skate, Victor was surprised to hear the crowd chant his name. They still wanted him back, despite everything. Russia had not disowned him. She did at least one thing better than his father. Nevertheless, she had to accept Yuuri before even dreaming of getting him back. Yuuri slid off to the middle of the rink, and instantly commanded the attention of a crowd which hated him for stealing Victor and loathed him even more for corrupting Russia’s pride.

The first guitar notes of Eros resounded in the arena. Yuri moved defiantly. Victor remembered skating in the same costume, challenging the audience, enchanting them, making them fall under his spell. Back then, he pictured it as a way of retaliating against a world that hated nonconformity by making the audience fascinated with it. When Yuuri skated, he did not care about that. He was focused on charming Victor only, and he forced the world to watch, forced it to confront reality. He was not playing nice. No one could take their eyes off. In that moment, Yuuri could not care less what the world thought of him, the only thing he wanted was to be the most beautiful man on the ice. And he was.

Victor did not expect being so suddenly and cruelly torn away from Yuuri. Makkachin was in critical condition, but he could not force himself to leave Yuuri’s side. He could not give him up to the cold embrace of his home. Yuuri convinced Victor to go. He accepted, but only after he convinced Yakov to take care of Yuuri. Victor needed someone who could support and protect Yuuri while he was gone. He knew Yuuri was a grown man, and he did not underestimate him, but he also felt, for once, that he had a duty toward someone. He could not leave Yuuri completely on his own.

The flight to Japan was among the longest ten hours Victor had known. He was worrying about Yuuri, worrying about Makkachin, and there was no way for him to check on either of them. He tried to sleep, but he kept waking every half an hour. He felt as if he was stuck in time. When he finally made it, Mari was waiting for him. “ _He’s recovering,”_ she said.  Victor hugged her, because he was thankful for the good news, because he was thankful she took care of Makkachin, because he grew to love her as if she was his sister during his stay in Japan, but also because he wanted to hide the tears that were forming in the corner of his eye.

When Victor and Mari arrived to the veterinarian, Makkachin was awake. He was lying down, exhausted from the ordeal, but his tail wagged joyfully at the sight of Victor. He ran towards his dog and buried his face into the dark fur. He remembered how Yuuri told him he lost his own dog during the previous Grand Prix Final. Victor shuddered. Had he lost Makkachin during a competition, he would have bombed too. But Makkachin was breathing. He was with Victor, just as he had always been for all those years since he adopted him.

When Makkachin fell asleep, Victor checked his phone. He got another message from his mother. _Vitya. I saw him skate. I understand. I’m so sorry._ He clenched his phone. All of his life, his mother meekly lowered her head whenever his father would go on his tirades, not daring to defend Victor. Not once had she come to reassure Victor that no, he was not a bad child, and yes, his father had indeed been abusive. After he turned twenty, he did not bother contacting either of his parents again. He hated his father and resented his mother’s passivity. Seeing her message, however, Victor took the time to process his feelings. After all, his mother had lived in the same household as him. She was also a victim. As a child, he did not understand it, and as a teen, he was already too distant to notice. To ignore her message now would be cruel. _I’ll talk to you once the GPF is over. Yuuri and I need to focus. I’m sorry too, Mama._

Before the free skate, he sent Yuuri a message of encouragement. _I’m here with you in spirit. You were amazing, and you will be amazing today too. I love you._ Their short separation made Victor realize just how important Yuuri had become to him.

As Yuuri and he lay in bed that night, Victor told him about his mother’s message. It was the first time he told Yuuri anything about his family, and it was not much. He did not want to worry Yuuri, but when he thought of how supportive Mrs. Katsuki was, how encouraging Mr. Katsuki was, how caring Mari was, Victor could not help but cry. Luckily, it was too dark for his tears to be seen, and Yuuri’s vision was blurry without his glasses. Victor hated how easy it was for him to dissimulate his tears, how over the years, learning to cry silently has become a necessity. It felt as if crying was the only thing he ever did. Yuuri sensed his unease and pulled him closer into a hug. He did not prod much, and simply said _“I can be your family, if you want.”_ Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hand. “ _I would love to.”_

They got engaged the day before the Grand Prix Final. Both knew that it was purely symbolic; neither of their countries would recognize an eventual union. It was a promise for a better tomorrow, for when they would finally be free of legal chains. When, in the restaurant, Victor said they will get married after Yuuri won gold, it was but a statement of what could have been, had the world been fairer. He was a little irritated when JJ interrupted the moment by claiming that he was the one who would marry after winning gold. The Canadian had nothing to worry about, his type of union would be recognized anywhere in the world. Even if he loved another man, his country, at least, would let him marry either way. Victor swallowed his anger. He told himself that it the price to pay for pretending that everything was fine.

Yuri Plisetsky called him out on that the next day with a kick – no, multiple kicks -- in the back and ice cold words. _Victor Nikiforov is dead_. He was, on the surface, talking about skating, but Victor knew what Yuri implied. He forced Yuri to look into his eyes. Of course he knew his career would suffer, it already was. Of course he knew how people looked at him, he did not need a teenage boy to tell him. He has seen enough of the world. He had been hurt in its uncaring hands. Then Yuri said the rings Yuuri bought were trash. He tried not to take it as an insult. Victor told himself that Yuri probably had his own issues. He knew that what Yuri truly meant is that the rings would not magically make his union with Yuuri recognized. Yuri then changed the subject and talked about Hasetsu. Victor was reassured. Yuri did not have anything against him personally: he would not have cared to mention good memories otherwise. Why exactly he sought to challenge him, however, remained a mystery.   

An hour later, he got a text from Yuri. It was a photo from last year’s banquet. Yuuri and Victor were dancing, Yuuri’s hand caressing Victor’s face. Their foreheads were almost touching, and both had eyes only for each other, as if the world around them ceased to exist. Victor’s phone buzzed again. _It was the first time I saw you look truly happy._ It was Yuri’s way of apologizing. _Fine, apology accepted, but only because I did not have that picture. Good luck in the GPF,_ Victor texted back.

Yuuri had a decent short program. He touched the ice with his hand, and was a bit mechanic at times, but he nevertheless scored higher than anything he managed last season. Yuuri could still catch up in the free skate.

It had been months since he started training Yuuri. During that time, Victor was too focused to process what his break from skating meant. It was only in the Grand Prix final that it hit him, as he watched other skaters compete, always to surpass themselves and others, testing the limits of the human body. He watched as fifteen-year-old Yuri stole his world record in front of the world in a historical debut. Victor Nikiforov was indeed dead to the world, but he had made his peace with that. Maybe it was for the better. With his career behind him, he could fade from the public eye, and live his life in a semblance of freedom. Victor told himself that he needed to die in order to be reborn.

Which is why, when Yuuri announced his plan to retire, while telling him to keep skating, Victor felt betrayed. It was an almost ironic echo to when he was threatening to leave Yuuri during the Cup of China. Maybe that was his punishment for purposely breaking someone’s heart. Still, being left to skate, on his own, in a country he no longer believed in, in front of a public who would tear at the smallest of flaws just to dethrone him, because he was no longer a charming bachelor, but a fallen, immoral man, it all seemed too cruel. As for Yuuri, he would retire having reached a peak. They would remember only his best moments. In his heart, Victor knew the decision came from a feeling of insecurity, but Victor was his own human being and he was outraged that he was not given a choice in that matter, that Yuuri already decided his future for him. He begged Yuuri to reconsider. They would both give their final decision after the Grand Prix Final. Victor crossed his fingers in hopes that whatever they decide, it would not destroy what they have taken months to build.

Yuuri’s free skate was breathtaking. It was that air of finality with which he skated that made it impossible for anyone to take their eyes off him. No one wanted to miss the last chapter of his story. Yuuri beat Victor’s record, and that made Victor prouder than he ever was for any of his own achievements. He could not imagine going back to the same life he led before, and he did not want Yuuri’s potential go to waste. He trusted Yuuri to make a decision that would match his own, one in which they would mutually support each other and continue to help each other grow.

A loss by 0.12 points was what it took for Yuuri to stay motivated to skate. That was enough for Victor. If Yuuri kept skating, so could he. Yuuri gave his word that he would win 5 gold medals before he retires, and Victor, in return, would be both his coach and his competitor. The two goals were almost impossible to accomplish, they knew it, but the greater promise of being together was one that made them feel invincible. Together, their goals were within their grasp.

Victor and Yuuri skated at the Gala together. They were both surprised that they managed to get approval, but they were not going to complain. They figured that since it was not a competition, the powers that be saw no reason to refuse them.

The Italian words resounded in the arena. A song of loneliness transformed into vows of eternal devotion. Two men skated a story of love as the world watched. Victor knew there would be people spitting hateful words at their screens. He knew people would recoil in disgust. He did not care. His world consisted of Yuuri. Yuuri was beautiful. What he had with Yuuri was beautiful. It was pure, simple, unwavering love.

Victor hoped, one day, the world would understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left to go! It's currently half written, but I outlined most of the ideas.
> 
> Things are looking up for Victor here, but he hasn't yet faced some issues that are bothering him. Next chapter will be a bit more rough, as he will have to confront some things that he's been avoiding so far.
> 
> EDIT: I realized I messed up some of the locations in this chapter (too much damn travelling), so I fixed it


	3. Coda: Peace and Harmony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are a bit shaky in the beginning of the chapter, but I promise the title of the chapter isn't misleading, it makes sense with the ending.
> 
> Thank you for staying with this story so far!

Victor was back in St Petersburg. He was making sure everything would be ready for Yuuri’s arrival. He was waiting for a few last crates from Japan and for the little possessions he had left in his old apartment to ship to their new residence.

His old apartment. Victor came back to it, only to see it vandalized. Scathing words – it was always words – and broken windows. Of course, Victor expected that. He had been away for too long, and being an openly gay man in Russia attracted that type of attention. Which is why he brought Yakov with him. He remembered being fifteen and crying in Yakov’s arms; he also remembered being fifteen, moving out to his new apartment, and laughing out of pure joy, because he felt free. The first place where he felt peace was gone. He wanted to scream at God Himself for causing him this distress, but he was a faithless man. The history of his country derided the comforts of religion, leaving him without a target onto which he could channel his rage.

He swallowed his anger and told himself that destruction gave way to creation. He stored all the memories of his old home in his heart. Victor would create a home once more, with Yuuri this time around. He thanked Yakov for being a constant support in his life. It was the first time he did it out loud rather than solely through gestures. Yakov replied that it was merely his duty, before squeezing Victor into a hug, calling him a brave, reckless, loveable idiot who made him lose all his hair, and possibly shedding a few tears. Victor was not entirely sure about that last one, and getting Yakov to admit it was a lost cause. Victor cherished the memory either way.

Yuuri came to Russia a week later. Yakov found them an apartment, and reassured Victor that they would be safe there. He believed him. When Yakov was set on something, he could have it his way. The only person who could stand up to him was Lilia Baranovskaya, and it turned out that she had a role to play in their choice of residence, as Yuuri would discover sometime later.

Their apartment was in a small building of three floors. Some of the neighbouring tenants were as young as fifteen, others were in their thirties. Some lived on their own, others in pairs. None batted an eyelash at the fact that Yuuri and Victor were a couple.

Yuuri had piqued Lilia’s interest. He was after all, a dancer before he was a skater, and he had trained under Minako. Lilia recognized his professionalism, and took him under her wing. Yuuri recognized some of her other pupils as residents of the small building he and Victor lived in. This is when the pieces started to come together. All of the people in their small building accepted Victor and Yuuri without hesitation because they were just like them.

Yakov and Lilia were never parents, but they had children. Children who were rejected, forsaken, neglected. They picked them up because they saw them for who they were: humans with aspirations, dreams and hopes. They deserved life and love just as much as anyone else, and the two of them provided what they can. Lilia and Yakov reminded Victor that unconditional kindness could come from the most unexpected places.

 

***

 

Being back in Russia meant that Victor had to reconnect with his past. For years, he had told himself that his relationship with his parents was a lost cause. And yet, his mother reached out. He could not refuse a meeting with her.

As he was waiting for her in a small café, his bit at his nails nervously. He did not know what to expect. How does one bridge a seven year chasm with someone who was supposed take care of him, but who was not there for him during the hardest times? Victor shook his head. He could not blame her for everything. It was not fair toward her. He wanted to know how she felt too. Communication was the first step to crossing the distance.

It took her a few minutes to arrive. She looked much older than what Victor remembered. Then again, he probably looked just as different in her eyes too. She smiled at him sadly as she greeted him. They spent a few minutes exchanging small talk, which was more often than not interspersed with heavy silences. Victor, feeling like they were avoiding the real reason they met, asked about his father.

“Oh? I don’t know. I don’t talk to him much. I divorced him a year after you stopped communicating with us. He blamed your … difference, on me, saying that I coddled you too much. Now I have many flaws, but I am honest with myself, and I didn’t play my role as a mother as I should have. I didn’t care enough for you. He blamed me for something I never did. And then I asked myself, ‘what kind of person thinks that caring for a child is bad?’ The only thing I could do, as a failed mother, was at least to cut ties with him.”

In that moment, Victor felt guilty. He remembered resenting his mother for not standing up to his father. And there she was, finally taking a stand, but Victor had fled then, not knowing, leaving her on her own. Trying to alleviate the shame he felt, he kept silent and let her talk. He felt as if the least he could do for her was to listen to her story.

 “I can see the way you’re looking at me. Don’t blame yourself. I don’t know how things would have turned out if had cared for you more. I sometimes wonder, but you can’t change the past. I only hoped that in the future I could fix my mistake. But I couldn’t reach you. And at some point I gave up. Until I heard about that law that passed, before the Sochi Olympics. I couldn’t imagine how you felt. I tried calling, but you’ve changed your number. And I gave up again

I still watched you skate though, every time. You were beautiful at Sochi, just like everyone said. But I could also see you were in pain. Nobody else saw that. I only wanted to reach out to you, to understand you, but I couldn’t.

Sometimes at work, when major skating events were happening, my co-workers and I would take a break to watch you. I remember being told that I look like you, because of my hair colour.  Of course, it’s the other way around, but I could not admit that we were related. Not when I had given up on trying to reconnect with you.

And then you left for Japan. It’s been seven years since I last talked to you, but it still felt strange to be so far from you. All of this time, we were still both living in St. Petersburg, we could have easily crossed paths, but when you went after Yuuri, that was no longer possible. I felt like my chances of reconciling with you were close to zero then.

I still made a point out of following Yuuri’s progress. Like the rest of the world, I was not sure why you chose him. He wasn’t like you, he flubbed his jumps. Sometimes, he almost looked mechanic when he skated. But I told myself, I have to trust you, for once in my life. I waited to see how he would improve with you as a coach. After a while, he still made mistakes, but there was something magnetic to him. I wondered what he meant to you then. Was he simply a project, or did you care for him?

I had my answer during the cup of China. I never thought you’d be so public about it. People were outraged. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. You were never a disciplined child, and the rules did not apply to you. Still, I was afraid for you. I needed to contact you. The phone was no use, but maybe, by chance, I could still write you an email. I wanted to understand why you threw away your career, why you wanted Yuuri, why you neglected your safety and your image. I did not know if I was hoping for an answer, or if I sent that email to ease my own conscience.

Then the Rostelecom cup came. Only a week before, the news were saying the most degrading things about you, but when the competition started, all the country pretended nothing had happened. After all, they still wanted to claim your achievements as their national pride. Fans were chanting your name as you and Yuuri entered the arena. It was strange.

And then Yuuri skated again. Any questions I had faded away. I did not need to ask them. When he was skating, I could finally see that what you two had did not need explanation. It was there, and it was good. I did not need to understand, just to accept. Yuuri as a skater was showing one of his best performances, and you looked happy watching him. Happier than I’ve ever seen you. I knew that more than ever, I needed to talk to you.

And you know the rest. We’re here now. I don’t know if we will ever manage to be close. I understand why you wouldn’t want to. It might take years for us to repair our relationship. But I’m ready.”

Victor took a deep breath. It was a lot of information to handle in one sitting. He silently observed her for a few moments. Her hair colour finally started to suit her age. He was holding her gaze. She looked earnest.

He held out his hand. It was the only gesture of acceptance he could muster at the moment. She shook it, understanding, not asking for anything more. He hoped that given some time, he could learn to trust her more. He wished that one day, he could accept her with a hug instead of a handshake, and rest his head on her chest with his eyes closed.

***

Yuuri and Victor were able to lead a relatively calm life. They had to be careful of course, and they hated every instant where they had to keep their distance from each other in fear of violence, but during the moments they shared in their apartment, at the skating rink, or walking the silent streets of St. Petersburg at night, they could almost forget their situation. They had each other. They could rise above anything.

Victor eventually reached a point where he was comfortable introducing Yuuri to his mother. It was a month after they talked at the café, and there were still times during which Victor felt awkward around her, but they were both trying. Maybe they would never earn each other’s complete trust, and maybe that was fine. Victor was content with the fact that she was willing to overcome her initial prejudice. It was enough.

There were still days were Victor would think about his father. There were still days where he would hear the same old words, clawing at his skin after all these years. He did not want to burden Yuuri with his issues, given that Yuuri was still adjusting to life in Russia. Those nights when his mind would not let him rest, Victor would toss and turn in bed. He replayed awful scenarios time and time again in his head, but soon enough Yuuri’s arm would tighten its grip around his waist and remind him he was not alone. _It’s okay to need help, Vitya._ He let Yuuri’s warmth and presence lull him to sleep.

Sometimes after training, Victor and Yuuri would take walks in a neighbouring park. When it was dark enough, they could hold hands. When it was not, they simply walked close to each other, appreciating each other’s presence, knowing that at times, the simple fact of being was enough.

Victor knew it was the last year he would compete. His body was not what it used to be, and it was better to leave the ice with grace. After that, Yuuri and he would go back to Japan. It was the practical thing to do. It was also safer for them both.

Victor thought about his theme for his last season as he was walking Makkachin. If Yuuri had not appeared in his life, he would have most probably finished his skating career on the theme of loneliness. Victor briefly considered “love and life” as a theme, but it was too close to the one Yuuri had the previous year. Besides, Victor had his whole future in front of him to celebrate love and life with Yuuri. Privately.

The sound of children’s laughter distracted him from his thoughts for a few seconds. A group of young boys zoomed past him on their bicycles. He thought back to his own childhood. Despite everything, Victor would miss Russia. Vicious as she was, she nurtured his love of skating. It was in this country that he learned to stand on the blades. It was in the country that he rose above all challenges and perfected his art. And it is skating that brought him to Yuuri.

Yuuri, who in turn brought him love and life. Yuuri, who became his family and helped him reconnect with his mother. Yuuri, who helped Victor realize that though some people were prejudiced, they could learn, in the same way his mother did, in the same way his country could, given some effort, time and patience. With Yuuri, Victor was able to picture a future where he set foot back in a Russia where they, and countless others, could love without fear, a future where their union would be recognized by both their countries. Yuuri gave him what would be his last theme.

Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -In the beginning of the chapter, the part where I wrote "the history of his country derided the comforts of religion" refers to state enforced atheism in the ex-USSR and how it affects the culture. 
> 
> -I left the ending vague, because I don't want to speculate much about the future. I consider it a bittersweet ending, because Victor still has a lot of internalized problems and guilt to deal with, but he's making small steps.
> 
> -Just to be clear, I don't think that Russia is a "bad" country, neither does Victor in this story, and I hope I conveyed that properly. There are cultural attitudes, however, that are harmful and need to be addressed, and that's what im doing, all while acknowledging that state decisions do not necessarily reflect each individual within a country.
> 
> That being said, thank you to everyone who stayed this long! It's the first time I finish such a long fanfiction. I hope it was enjoyable. Comments and kudos are much appreciated :)
> 
> EDIT: I have decided to write another fic with the same concept as this one, but from Yurio's POV. If you enjoyed this fic, please check out [Sinking Sands](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11021844), which takes place 3 years after the end of season 1. Thank you :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Olhando Para O Futuro, Podemos Ver O Começo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817700) by [gold_on_ice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_on_ice/pseuds/gold_on_ice)




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